Chapter 9
You sat in the Slytherin common room, reading a book that you had borrowed sometime during the summer, and kept telling yourself that you had any intention of returning. The fire crackled, brushing the cold stone of the fireplace that encased it. You paused your reading, looking around at the room, completely empty, save for you of course. The lack of talking wasn't unusual, but the lack of people was. Most students had been whisked away by their parents for christmas break, which you usually were, but this year you were left at Hogwarts thanks to P&O and their incredibly priced range of winter cruises.
You didn't mind, it was nice for your parents to get a holiday, besides, this meant that you could more easily acquire books as there were less students around to observe your habit of ‘borrowing’, and you practically had the entire grounds to yourself.
You expected it would be lonely, though; no friends around to talk to, but it wasn't the end of the world.
You checked the clock on the wall and put down your book, jumping up to go and bit farewell to your friends. You weaved in and out of the hallways, passing students rushing around, some going to their families, some running back because they'd forgotten something.
You spotted Hermione in the crows catching up to her and tapping her on the shoulder. You hugged her goodbye, wishing her happy holidays, and waving her off.
You waded back into the crowd, spotting a familiar pair of red-heads bobbing amongst the masses.
“Heya.” You said, the pair turning around.
“Hey.” They said in unison.
You could see Ron and Harry a couple metres away, bickering about something or other.
“Where’s your bag?” Fred said, looking down at your empty hands.
“Haven't got one, I'm staying here this year.”
“Oh,” George said, crossing his arms. “Why's that?”
“My parents have abandoned me for a cruise.” You said, wiping an imaginary tear from your face.
“So you’re just gonna stay here?”
“Yeah I guess so.”
“Huh.” George said, looking over to Fred.
Fred looked back at George, and you watched them exchange a series of expressions and gestures that only they could understand. You guessed it was probably some form of twin telekinesis.
“Well, if you want,” Fred said.
“You can come stay with us?” George finished.
“Oh, no,” You replied. “I wouldn't want to take up space, or anything.” You waved your arms.
“Not at all!” Fred smiled. “The more the merrier!”
“Um.” You thought for a second, watching as Fred migrated over to Ron, hitting him over the back of the head as he joined in on the argument.
“C’mon,” George said, leaning in to you. “It’d be fun; like Fred said, the more the merrier, besides Harry’s staying with us.”
You thought for a second, looking up at him. It would be nice; Friends and all that.
“Okay.” You smiled back at him. “Okay, if I'm welcome?”
“Always.” George said back, shooting you that familiar mischievous glance. “Now go get your stuff, hurry before we leave you behind.”
“You better not.” Was your parting remark before you hurried off to collect various personal items to bring with you.
You got to your dorm, sliding out your trunk from under the bed and shoving varois clothes and books into it, still telling yourself that you had even a speck of intention to return them. You smiled, clicking the locks on the trunk and standing up, wondering how different Christmas would be in the Weasley household.
✸ ✸ ✸
You were picked up by Mr and Mrs Weasley, who ferried you and your various hosts back to their house. You’d met Mr Weasley once before, in the hallways as he had been called in on account of something Ron probably blew up. He was nice, a little kooky but you liked that.
You were currently carrying your trunk up the stairs to the room you’d been loaned for the holidays, wondering if the staircase would ever end. Finally reaching the room, you hauled your luggage inside and sat it at the foot of the bed, looking around.
The room was small and cosy, with a single bed that laid underneath a window, overlooking the overgrown field that lined the landscape around the house.
You watched as the breeze ran itself through the long grass, painting patterns in it, like when you stroke a cat the strong way and its fur gets all fuzzy. The sun was just descending in the sky, and the faded sunlight was dusted on the top of the field; it looked like a fire, just less alarming.
“How you settling in?” You heard a voice from behind you.
You turned round to see George leaning against the doorway, his leg propped up behind him as he crossed his arms.
“Good,” You said, “It's cosy.”
“Indeed it is.” He pushed off of the wall and walked to the window, standing next to you as he peered out the window. “Looks like it's on fire.”
“Yeah,” You copied George's position, leaning on the windowsill. “Just less alarming.”
He let out a small chuckle, still looking out the window. The two of you stood in silence for a while, basking in the glory of a falling sun as you existed. The windowsill was small, befitting of the room that surrounded it, and your arms were pressed together. You could feel the warmth of George's skin emanate from beneath his jumper, lulling you into peace. You wouldn't have minded staying like that for a while.
A long while.
“Dinner everybody!” You heard Molly call from downstairs, and then a rumbling of footsteps as everyone left their luggage and hopped down the stairs.
George sighed, pausing for a second. You looked at him, the orange light blending his skin and hair; you thought he looked like a sculpture in a burning building, with white marble being cast yellow with flames.
“C’mon,” He said, turning to you. “Dinner.”
He left the window and made his way out of the room, your eyes following him as you stayed still.
He turned around. “Cmon!”
Realising that you were, infact, staring at him, you obeyed, leaving the window and following him downstairs, which seemed shorter when you were walking down them.
The family–and assorted guests–sat down at the table, which held a myriad of food, more food than you'd ever seen in one place before (aside from at Hogwarts, of course.)
Dinner started with ‘Pass the potatoes’, and ‘more water?’, and ended with a heated debate headed by Ronald about whether or not he should’ve gotten detention for using someone else's wand by accident and blowing it up. You held your ground that he shouldn't have, which Ron of course backed, but his brothers didn't. They were just antagonising him for the sake of it, and Fred suggested he be banished to the forbidden forest.
“Now,” You interjected in between mouthfuls of potato. “That would be unfair, but it would be funny.”
“Funny to see me get eaten by werewolves or trolls or whatevers in those woods?!” Ron protested, earning a laugh from his mother.
“Yes.”
“Yes!”
You and George looked at each other.
“Jinx!”
“Jinx!”
You chuckled. “Double jinx.”
George said nothing, as was the condition of his curse, rolling his eyes overdramatically.
“God,” Mr. Weasley said, jokingly. “Nice to have some peace and quiet, could you do Ronald next?”
You laughed, Ron didn’t.
You looked around the table, appreciating the warm atmosphere and the buzz of chatter from the packed table. You surveyed the family: There was Mrs. and Mr. Wealsey, sitting together at the head of the table, Mrs. Weasley sat opposite Harry. Ron sat between Harry and another of his seemingly endless stream of brothers, ‘Percy’, or something. You hadn’t really spoken to him, except once, when he caught you trying to sneak into the Gryffindor common room to see your friends, using his title as ‘Prefect’ or something to kick you out. You didn’t dislike him for that, but you didn’t think you’d be besties anytime soon. Opposite him was Fred and George, and then there was you, sat next to Ginny. You also hadn’t spoken to Ginny that much, being that she wasn’t in the same year as you, but you’d once knocked her over on the stairs on your way to divination, and gifted her one of your precious ‘borrowed’ books as an apology. She seemed nice.
“Harry!” Mr. Weasley said, “How is…”
His voice trailed off behind you as he asked something about a ‘Muggle device’ or such other thing. You didn’t hear him, instead being distracted by George frantically tapping you on the shoulder.
You looked over to him, sat in between you and Fred (who was inconspicuously flicking peas at Ron) and saw him looking at you exasperatedly, eyes wide and eyebrows raised, mouth glued shut.
He tilted his head, bobbing it in lieu of spoken word, pressuring you to relieve him of the jinx.
“What?” You said, intending to do no such thing. “What is it?”
He only looked back, pointing at his face and flashing his eyes.
“I don’t understand, tell me what you want me to do.”
He let out an annoyed breath, looking away, the corners of his mouth pointed down in an aggravated smile.
He looked back to you, but being your usual, irritating self you turned away, aware that all you’d have to put up with was tapping on your shoulder, and a refreshing silence from ine half of the twins.
You all finished dinner, with a degree of success, being that you expected only a medium sized bruise from the incessant tapping from your silent friend, and you helped tidy up, appointing yourself the head plate-dryer, as Ron did his best to wash up.
You wiped a plate, the cloth squeaking as you caught a glimpse of a conversation happening in the doorway; Ginny and Harry were talking about something, and you guessed it must have been absolutely enthralling by the look in Harry's eyes as he looked up at Ginny. Either that or he was madly in love with her. Good luck with that, bud.
You heard an annunciated ‘Ah-hem’ from behind you, turning to see George standing there, still not talking. Fred was stood next to him, arms crossed looking highly amused at his brother's fate.
“I’m acting as my brother's translator.” He said. “And he says ‘Please don’t remove the jinx, I love not talking, and I hope I never talk again’.”
George swivelled round, hitting his brother over the head, who just chuckled and walked away.
“Keep him quiet.” Ron said, washing the last plate. “I prefer him this way.”
George went to hit him too, but missed, Ron ducking and jogging off to one of the myriad of rooms that were balanced on top of each other to form the Weasley household.
You turned back, continuing to dry plates, and ignore the boy who was leaning closer and closer, trying to annoy you into helping him.
“I’d love to help you, but I just don’t see why I should.” You said, putting a fork onto the drying rack.
George paused, sighing, before barging you out of the way, drying plates at lighting speed in an attempt to sweeten the deal for you. You watched him, amused at the fact you’d somehow crafted your ginger friend into some sort of manservant.
He finished, drying round and throwing his arms up, humming a ‘well?’ as best he could.
“Hm, see,” You started, crossing your arms and looking off into the distance (well, the living room) in fake pondering, “I just don’t see how i can even concentrate on anything else before i’ve unpacked.” You looked back to George, who just looked back. “Such a shame.” You added.
He rolled his eyes, grabbing your wrist and dragging you to the foot of the stairs, ushering you up to your room hurriedly.
You reached your room and he ran to your trunk, unlatching it and picking it up, dumping the contents onto the bed.
You laughed, considering making him wash, dry, and fold all of your clothes, but realising that he might actually have murdered you by then, so deciding against it.
He looked at you, stood next to the bed with a look of frustrated indignation plastered in his face.
“Hmmm…” You said, twirling an imaginary moustache. “Good enough: George Weasley, George Weasley…”
You stepped closer, pausing both for dramatic effect and to piss him, mostly the latter.
“George Weasley.”
“OhmygodIactuallyhateyousomuch.” He exclaimed in one long breath, throwing his head back in relief. “Why would you do that to me!”
“Eh,” You said, “Funny.”
He just laughed, pushing his hair back. “Well, at least now I can tell you…”
“Tell me what?”
“That you had a pea on your face the entire dinner.” He smiled.
“Wait, really?” You wiped your face frantically.
“No.”
You stopped, looking up at the mischievous grin that was looking down at you.
“Ugh!” You groaned, slapping his shoulder in rebellion.
“Hey!” He returned, slapping yours back.
“Hey!” You repeated, slapping him in the shoulder again.
“Hey!”
“Hey!”
“Hey!”
“Hey!” You pushed him back, giggling as he caught himself on the bed frame.
“Oh, you did not.” He said quietly, his tone low and contemplative, as though you’d just stabbed him with a butter knife.
“And I’d do it again.” You shrugged, returning his own mischievous grin.
George nodded slowly, standing up straight, worryingly calm. “Okay… okay… If that’s how it’s gonna be.”
You frowned, and were about to say something when he bent down, folding you over his shoulder and hiking you up into the air.
“O- AH! Put me down!” You protested, banging your fists on his back. “You dick! Put m-”
“Okay.” George interrupted, throwing you forward.
For a second you thought that maybe he’d hurled you out of a window, which you wouldn’t put past him, considering the amount you apparently annoyed him, but then you hit the soft pile of clothes on the bed, and realised you were still inside.
You made a loud fwoomp as you louded, along with a less pleasant fwack, as your back hit one of the books that you’d borrowed away for the holidays.
“Ah! You absolute dickhead, you massive pri-”
“You started it.” George interrupted, leaning on the bedpost and looking down at you.
“There were books in my luggage you dumbass, that hurt!”
“Oh,” He said, pushing off from the post and leaning down over you, putting a hand down next to your head and snaking the other underneath your back. You looked up at him, watching his eyebrows quiver as his hand felt around beneath you for this accused book. Your breath hitched and you pressed your head down into the bed, uncomfortable being that close to George. You hadn’t really so much as hugged him before, you weren’t those types of friends, and you’d never seen his face this close, close enough to feel the warmth of his breath hit your neck, almost close enough to hear his pulse. “Sorry.”
He pulled the book out, standing back up and examining the cover as you sat up, steadying yourself as quickly as you could, taking a breath.
“You’re doing schoolwork during the holidays?” He said.
“Oh, huh?” You flicked your eyes back up to him, doing your best to push yourself back into the present.
“The book. ‘Hexes and Jinxes: A Comprehensive Guide on How to Curse Ethically’?”
“Oh, no, It’s just interesting.”
“If you say so.” He said, throwing the book down next to you.
George looked at you, his expression softening slightly as he paused, thinking. “I-”
“GEORGE!” You heard someone shout from downstairs, turning both of your heads. “GET DOWN HERE AND TALK SOME SENSE INTO YOUR BROTHER!”
George chuckled, shouting back. “WHICH ONE?”
There was a small pause, and then a reply. “YEAH!”
“Right then,” George said, turning back to you as he took a step closer to the door. “Have fun folding clothes.
You smiled. “I’ll probably just shove them under the bed.”
“Fair enough, that’s what I do.”
He left, his footsteps getting quieter as he padded down the stairs, to go and slap either Fred or Ron over the head.
You flung yourself back onto the bed dramatically, letting out a sigh, not sure why.
You rubbed your eyes, realising how tired a big dinner made you, and got up, doing just as you said you would and swiping the clothes off of your bed, kicking off your shoes onto the top of the pile.
You got into bed and closed your eyes, your mind immediate flicking to the image of George leant over you; the warmth of his skin, the silk of his hair, the colour of hi-
Nope! Absolutely not!
You lit a candle and flicked through your book, burying yourself in an instructional diagram of a dragon's tooth, amd pretending to yourself that you actually cared about how to extract venom, and that you weren’t thinking about…
… that.